


Last Words

by Kryptodrakon



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Hello I am here to make you sad, father/son relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 11:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16263563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptodrakon/pseuds/Kryptodrakon
Summary: A ten-year-old voicemail in the World of Ruin, or Noctis finally understands some things about his dad.





	Last Words

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this one for a while waiting to see if it turned into something bigger but it didn't, so here it is. As usual all mistakes or inconsistencies are mine.

It was a testament to just how much of his son’s life Regis had missed in recent years that he’d expected him to embrace the journey to Altissia. That was his own fault, a side effect of pulling himself back from the public eye to focus on maintaining the wall and the Kingsglaive and delay the inevitable rumors of his failing health. And to protect Noctis from the knowledge of the price the power of the Lucii exacted upon those who wielded it.

 

He’d given the prince far too little credit. 

 

His office was lit with the long, lazy light of sunset when the sharp rap sounded on the door. Noctis let himself in without preamble and stood before the wide mahogany desk with his arms crossed and his brows pulled into a look so like his mother’s that Regis felt his breath catch. “So Ignis tells me that I’m being carted off to Altissia before the treaty signing. I told him he must have gotten some carrot in his ear while he was cooking dinner yesterday because there’s no way my father would let me skip out on something so important.” 

 

Regis steepled his fingers under his chin, gathering his wits around the surprise at the undercurrent of anger in the casual statement. “Your advisor has sharp ears,” he replied simply. 

 

“Why?”

 

“You’ve a wedding to plan.”

 

“I can plan here.”

 

“If you’re apprehensive about marrying Lunafreya…”

 

“It’s not that.” The interruption was abrupt, and Noct immediately flushed, ducking his head in a manner more reminiscent of the younger prince Regis knew better. Long fingers reached up to draw his bangs over his eyes as he took a breath, held it for a moment and then blew the hair out of his face. “In the long list of things I would have expected from Niflheim, marrying Luna wasn’t one of them. It seems… too nice, for them.”

 

Which was why Regis had turned his brain inside out trying to imagine all the nefarious schemes that might be borne from such a union, although he wouldn’t put voice to his suspicions in front of his son after seeing the passing hint of a fond smile on his lips. “Your union sends a powerful message,” he said instead. “It may serve the empire, but that doesn’t mean there’s no joy to be had.” 

 

“But why Altissia, of all places? I would have thought here, or even Tenebrae…” he trailed off at the mention of Luna’s home, not missing the shadow that passed over his father’s face. For a moment the two men exchanged a look of shared guilt for the part they’d played in bringing the Empire down on Fenestala manor. Seeing his son whole and well, grown into a strong young man, able to shoulder the tremendous burden of destiny that the gods had placed upon him, Regis couldn’t bring himself to regret asking for the Oracle’s healing touch for his son, but their very presence had rained misfortune upon the house of Nox Fleuret, had turned Ravus to the Empire to find an outlet for the hate he harbored at his mother’s death, had left Luna in the hands of the enemy. He’d proven then how much he was willing to sacrifice for the sake of his son, a knowledge that had rattled him to his core ever since.

 

Unwilling to let the uncomfortable silence stretch on, Regis averted his gaze to his hands. “Altissia falls under the Empire’s purview, but retains its own government. It’s neutral ground, and it’s a far safer place for the two of you than Tenebrae, or Insomnia.”

 

Noct snorted and fell into the well-loved leather chair usually filled by Clarus. The king’s shield was at home this evening, likely having a similar discussion with his own exceedingly stubborn son. “Altissia doesn’t have a magical wall to repel an Imperial fleet if they decide to crash the wedding.”

 

“The wall won’t hold forever,” Regis murmured. 

 

He regretted the response immediately as Noctis looked up sharply, his eyes calculating as he searched his father’s face. The king tried for the benignly blank expression usually reserved for political glad handing, but Noctis had spent enough time of late engaged in his own thinly veiled power struggles to see through it. “If you’re afraid for my safety in Insomnia you can’t have much faith in Niflheim to uphold their end of the Armistice. What is it you think they’re planning?”

 

“I simply wish to prepare for any possibility. I cannot endure Emperor Aldercapt and his retinue if my attention is divided worrying about your security while they’re within our walls.” 

 

“I can take care of myself.”

 

“Be that as it may.” 

 

His son stood up again, ever unable to remain still. The figure eight pattern of pacing he adopted was old habit, such that it had worn a faded track in the ornate rug that covered the marble. Despite the fact that Noct was twenty and a man grown, nostalgia filled the king’s eyes with visions of a much younger version of his child, walking the same measured steps as he tested a shaky recital of Hamlet’s third soliloquy, a punishment for the rug ruined when one of the stray cats he’d snuck into the palace had given birth under his bed. 

 

“I don’t get it,” Noct finally said, shattering the illusion by leaning over the desk, an invasion of personal space that his younger self never would have dared to make. “My entire life has been about preparing me to rule Lucis in the future. I have the right to be a part of any treaty negotiations that affect that future.” 

 

“It is hardly a negotiation Noctis. The terms of the treaty are absolute. We are not in a position to negotiate.” Regis straightened in his chair and folded his hands on the desk. Noct seemed to recognize the stance, the one that meant he was walking a dangerous line, and he stepped back once more, but the fierce determination in his eyes blazed like a house fire. “The terms have already been cemented. The signing is merely a formality. Your wedding to Luna is one of those terms the treaty hinges on, and a wedding cannot proceed without its groom.”

 

“And his father?”

 

He’d been wondering when this would come up. Regis pinched the bridge of his nose, choosing his words carefully. “I no longer have the strength to maintain my connection to the crystal at so great a distance. My duty as king is to protect my people.” Hollow words, considering the true motivation for moving the wedding, but he’d been lying to Noctis since Ardyn had showed up on his doorstep. No, since before that. He knew something of the hand fate had dealt his son. Noctis would never grow old and feeble as he had, drained by the power of the Lucii and the crystal both, his body failing him piece by piece. It was the reason Regis had fought so hard to give him a taste of life outside the walls of the citadel. It was why he’d gone to public school, why he’d been allowed his own apartment, why he’d never let on that he’d known about the nighttime excursions beyond the palace walls and only occasionally “found out” to check his son’s recklessness. A lie of omission was still a lie; Regis had been lying to his son since the day the crystal had marked him for his destiny because he had an inkling of the cruel future the Astrals had laid out for him.

 

He couldn’t be there, at the end, but he could set the example, hope that someday Noctis could see his words and his actions for what they were.

 

Even if it meant meeting his righteous anger with cold resolve in the present.

 

The flare of nostrils was familiar, but the explosion of angry words never came. Truly, Regis had put too much distance between them of late; Noctis kept surprising him with his restraint. 

 

The king glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting to attend, and you’ve packing to do.”

 

“I’m not going. We can have the wedding after the signing.”

 

The speed at which he rose from the chair made his knee scream in protest, but it never showed on his face. Regis drew himself to his full height, the way he’d only had call to do a handful of times in Noct’s life, usually when his mouth went galloping ahead of his brain. The prince instinctively stepped back from the steel expression on his dad’s face.

 

“Do not forget your place. You will go to Altissia, be it at the request of your father or the order of your King.”

 

It was a card that never played well. He knew Noctis wouldn’t disobey an order, even a threatened one, but the shutters behind his son’s eyes slammed shut, his expression forced to a careful neutral, and the air between them chilled such that Regis expected his breath to fog around his face when he exhaled sharply.

 

All familiarity gone, Noctis bowed shallowly. “In that case, Your Majesty. I do have packing to do.” He turned on a heel and swept from the room, slamming the door a little harder than necessary but not nearly as hard as the king had expected.

 

Regis sank into his chair once more, letting his head fall into his hands, unsure of how long he remained that way before the door opened softly to admit his shield. Clarus took up his usual position, but his book remained unopened on one knee while he waited for the King to speak.

 

“How did Gladiolus take the news?”

 

“Better than his prince, from the look of things.”

 

“How easily I forget that he has Aulea’s power of perception.”

 

Clarus laughed. “That woman saw through every one of your tricks. I’m still not convinced she didn’t read minds.” Once their chuckles had dwindled back to pensive silence, he shuffled through the pages of the book absently. “How much does he suspect?”

 

“More than I’d hoped, but less than I feared. He’ll go, but only because I threatened to make it an order.” 

 

The shield winced in sympathy. “My job was not so difficult then. Wherever Noctis goes, Gladio will follow, whatever his feelings about leaving when the wolf is on the doorstep.” 

 

* * *

 

 

The night before the treaty signing, Regis excused himself early from the festivities atop the Citadel and made his slow way to Noct’s rooms. The boxes from his apartment were stacked haphazardly along an empty wall, labeled in Ignis’ tidy lettering below Noct’s crossed-out scrawl and roughly-drawn doodles of his advisor in varying stages of annoyance. 

 

The bed Regis had spent so many nights seated beside was bare, the rest of the furniture covered, the hearth cold and thoroughly swept and the curtains drawn. The mirrors, too, had been carefully covered, and despite knowing it was merely a precaution against the dust the king felt his stomach twist. The last time those mirrors had been covered had been his own father’s funeral, when these rooms had belonged to Regis. 

 

He let himself sink onto the covered sofa, sliding shaking fingers through his hair as he fought back a sudden maelstrom of emotion. He’d never taken the time to speak with his son, after their last fight, afraid Noctis would see through more of his carefully constructed illusion and guess at his fears. He’d tried so hard to convey all that he felt, his support, his love, his  _ pride  _ in his only child, on the steps of the Citadel. 

 

It didn’t feel like enough. Whatever had passed unspoken between them on that morning, it would never be enough for Regis.

 

He palmed his cell phone, staring hard at the first contact in his favorites list as he chewed his lip, and then pressed the green icon. 

 

* * *

 

 

“ _ Hello, Noct.  _

 

_ I know that much of this won’t make sense to you. You know of your role as the chosen king, but not all that it entails, not yet. When you do I hope you come to understand why I have acted as I have, and that you can forgive me for the selfish need to keep from you the true nature of your fate.  _

 

_ We quarreled, before you left, but I know things have been strained between us far longer. I want you to know that it was never my intention to hurt you. I believed at the time that my distance would be for your benefit, that it might spare you the torment of knowing the price the ring of our ancestors demands for our protection. I had hoped to save you from the fear and the sadness I experienced watching my own father waste away. How easily I forget that you are your mother’s son, and that I had no hope of concealing anything from you for long. You never got the chance to know her, but you have her compassionate heart, and her withering glare. She would be so proud of you, Noctis. As I am. As all are, here, who had the chance to know you. Our hopes for the future go with you, and I know you will rise to meet every challenge set before you with the same determination that has helped you succeed all these years I’ve had the honor of being your father.  _

 

_ I love you, Noctis, more than anything on this earth. I could never say it enough. I love you, my son.” _

 

In the darkness, with the dying fire still warm against his back and the snores of his companions from the tent in his ears, Noctis lowered the phone and forced his white-knuckled grip on the device to relax before it buckled the screen. He’d lost track of how many times he’d listened to the voicemail, his father’s words thick with emotion as he said goodbye to a machine instead of his son. 

 

He’d pettily refused to answer the phone that evening, sitting in the hotel in Longwythe with a royal flush in his hand, poker face so perfect it was making Prompto sweat as the blonde tried to suss out whether he was bluffing. He’d told himself he’d called the old man back the day after, and then they’d been off to Galdin, chasing down rocks for Dino and killing giant crabs on the beach and fishing, and he’d forgotten. And then it had been too late. 

 

The little red indicator had sat mockingly in the corner of his voicemail icon for weeks. Already drowning in a tidal wave of grief and anger, he hadn’t been able to force himself to hit play, to let his father’s voice out like some phantom reminder of what he’d lost. And then in the ensuing chaos of the Astrals, the covenants, the disaster in Altissia and everything that followed after, he’d forgotten again.

 

The phone was all but useless now, but somehow Ignis had managed to scrounge up a way to charge it, and he’d finally listened to the voicemail hunched in a booth of what had once been Takka’s diner, surrounded by grim faces and weapons stockpiles instead of tourists and beans. 

 

Now he knew. He knew what his fate entailed, what his role was to be as the last king of Lucis, and in ten years of reflection he’d come to understand his father’s reasons, and that he’d tried his best to let Noctis live, knowing all the while that he would die to fulfill his purpose. 

 

He was glad he’d waited. His younger self, before the crystal, before the losses he’d suffered and the trials he’d undergone, wouldn’t have understood, would have been angry and bitter and too full of fresh grief to focus on the parts of the message that mattered. Noct pressed play again, held the phone to his ear and heard nothing but the love Regis had borne him, his pride and his surety that his son wouldn’t fail. When the tears fell he let them; tonight was a night for crying, because he knew he wouldn’t get another chance. 

 

He didn’t hear the tent zipper, but soon Ignis was pressed warm and solid against his left side, his wordless presence bolstering as Noctis wiped his eyes with a sleeve and let loose a wobbly little laugh before pressing the phone into his advisor’s hand and playing the message for him. The older man listened quietly, his lips curved in a thin smile. “He was so concerned that that last fight would be the thing you remembered.”

 

“He should have known better,” Noct said quietly, and slid the phone into his pocket.

 

There weren’t any stars, the miasma that blotted the sun too thick to let through even the tiniest pinpoint of light, but it was still oddly soothing to look at the sky and know it wouldn't stay that way. “I can feel him, sometimes,” the king murmured, touching the breast pocket where he’d tucked the Ring of the Lucii for safekeeping. “The others are colder, detached and sort of vague, but he’s warm.” 

 

“He loved you Noct. That’s a powerful connection.”

 

His friend looked suddenly dreadfully sad, but he didn’t seem inclined to share the feeling, and Ignis accepted that there were things he wasn’t ready to tell them yet. The admission around the fire hours before, about what exactly he had to do to bring back the dawn, that he was asking them to walk him to his death, had been enough already.

 

The two men sat together in companionable silence until it was time to wake the others, and then Ignis clapped Noct gently on the shoulder and went to light the camp stove for a last hot breakfast. They’d be leaving the camping gear behind. One way or another, they wouldn’t need it again. 

 

Noctis stood and dusted dirt from the seat of his trousers, phone still clutched in his hand and his father’s name peering at him from the screen. The battery indicator was blinking red in the corner.

 

_ I love you, my son.  _

 

He knew. He'd always known, but now he understood, and it made a world of difference. “See you soon, dad,” he whispered. His thumb hovered for just a moment, uncertain, before pressing the icon to delete the message. 

 

He powered down the phone, and when he went back to join the others he left it lying in the grass overlooking Lucis.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> When will my upbeat and lighthearted fic ideas come back from the war?   
> Why is everything I write for this fandom so damn sad?  
> Why do I always post it at ungodly hours of the morning? 
> 
> The world may never know.
> 
> I am still trying to write for Whumptober but it's eluding me, so I made myself busy cleaning out my google docs and rereading stuff that's just been sitting and I stumbled across this. The ending is sort of abrupt, but when I tried to rewrite it nothing really meshed well so I'm leaving it as is for now. 
> 
> If you guys wanna yell at me on Tumblr or check out my admittedly sort of terrible art you can find me on tumblr at kryptodrakonprogenitor.tumblr.com


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